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Queen’s Gardens was no peaceful place on Saturday. Tucked away under the shadow of the Wilberforce Memorial a small would-be jamboree was taking place with attendant amplified noise otherwise known as a band. I learned later it was a “Collective Youth Festival” and that it was “challenging oppression through collective action” (again). There were stalls of various unions, even a Socialist Party stall (I say ‘even’ I didn’t think they could organise a stall) and, of course supporters of the bearded loon of the Labour Party. There were more toilets than security staff and more security staff than attendees (I exaggerate a little but this looked an event for the few and not the many; maybe they all turned up later.) I’ve seen other posts showing folk raising their fists and reportedly singing that favourite of doomed causes ¡No pasarán! ( Ah but they did pass and seventy years ago my dear, do keep up …) For a youth event many seemed aged and miserable looking, maybe it was the music, the ancient clichéd slogans that meant little even when new or the dire speeches from international guests which gained nothing in translation. It certainly couldn’t have been the weather which was nicely cool and blustery with showers, perfect! Venceremos, comrade, sin duda venceremos, pero no hoy…

A small demo outside the railway station on Friday afternoon. They brought more placards than supporters which might be a bit embarrassing but they seemed more intent on a good chin wag than in letting the world know their concerns. The world, for its part, just passed them by.

Here in the dark of a January evening a collection of banner wavers, delusional socialist wannabes, imps, pimps, banjo players and just plain old fashioned passers-by have collected in Queen Victoria Square to demand that SOMETHING MUST BE DONE about that awful Mr Trump and his evil acts. There was lots talk of building a socialist alternative and fighting American Imperialism all drawing the appropriate Pavlovian applause response. I hear he keeps a close ear to the ground and worries so much about how well he’s doing down on Hessle Road and the Avenues, so this grand demo will greatly irritate his ulcers and boil his piss I’ve no doubt.

Seriously though Mr Trump the duly (and newly) elected head of state of a foreign country is getting up everyone’s nose at the moment He might be doing something right then, but it’s not my circus and not my monkey as they say these days. But it not just American noses, no sir, well it wouldn’t be would it? The self-proclaimed liberal luvvies have got to show themselves as “doing” stuff so they hold these little demos sprouting up over the country, all utterly meaningless and just an excuse for the same old tired inane claptrap to be spouted forth. But the irrelevancy doesn’t stop at few demos; oh no. There’s currently a petition to Parliament (that’s the UK Parliament by the way just in case, like me, you were wondering what the hell it has got to do with us) with over 1.5 million signatures saying Mr Trump should not be allowed to meet the Queen! Ye Gods! I would have thought that making him meet that wizened old brood mare was a suitable punishment for anyone but no, he must not shake hands (or anything else) with Queenie or the world will end or some such nonsense. Now as this pathetic little country is seeking a trade deal with the good old evil US of A what chance do you think that petition has, hmmm? I expect Brenda will be told to get her knee pads out, moisten her royal lips and grin and bear it.